


Reboot

by ElDiablito_SF



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, POV First Person, this is very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7139783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sameen Shaw doesn't know how to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reboot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/gifts).



> I'm sorry, I'm really upset after last night's episode.
> 
> (Presume this takes place some time after episode 5x10)

I woke up today and you weren’t there. This simulation sucks.

It is impossible to know what I feel. I don’t feel. I’m not coded to. Whatever it is inside that has coded me, the chip in my neck, the DNA in my cells, it did not make me quite right for you. Perhaps I too am a machine. Perhaps that’s why you love me. 

Loved me. 

You liked that I could not feel because I could not hate you. But that also meant that I could never love you, because sociopaths don’t love. 

How could you stand there, with your beautiful cow eyes, and say such shit to me under a hail of bullets? If we’re only shapes, then why can’t I draw you with my hand? I trace the outline of your face with my finger in the fogged up mirror, the sharp point of your chin, symmetrical to the sharp point of your nose. Who designed you, Root? 

This simulation sucks.

When you took my hand in yours and made that stupid joke, “Sam I am. We are both Sam.” I was embarrassed for you, truly. I never did call you by your name. You weren’t Sam to me, you weren’t Samantha. You were just _Her_ , the idiot who insisted on trying to get a sociopath to love her. _Why_ , Root? Why must you always fight a losing battle?

How could someone as smart as you have been so stupid?

I miss you.

You’re a part of me, but I miss you. I remember every touch, every kiss, both imaginary and not. Every word. Every poorly timed come-on. I reach deep within myself where you still live - my _stella maris_ , my true north. I reach and grasp and I find my own emptiness. Whoever designed me did it wrong. I’m not supposed to _feel_ this way.

When I came back and you tackled me like a cheetah in that grass, and then pointed that gun at your infuriatingly stupid, gorgeous face, I let my guard down. And then, I let you take my hand and lead me down the road, where in the darkness of a back alley I pressed you to a graffiti-covered wall and kissed you until your lips were bruised and your legs held tightly to my hips while I ground you up against the piss-reeking bricks, and I bit your long neck and let my fingernails claw at your skin because it felt _so real_. Everything was muted before, filtered through my sifter of moral gray. But not you. You burned bright red against me.

You told me you loved me and I stared at you because love was not a thing that I understood. But I understood _need_ , and _home_ , and _crazy bitch_.

I woke up today and you were gone.

Sam. Samantha. Root.

I do not know how to love, but I will yet learn how to miss you.


End file.
